


When the Red Summer Poppies Bloom

by Letterblade



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: F/F, Multiple Orgasms, Stone Top, Swordplay as Foreplay, Yona's probably seventeen idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:31:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8710942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letterblade/pseuds/Letterblade
Summary: Princess Kouren, now that Yona's been able to get to know her, turns out to be an excellent teacher of swordplay. And some...more interesting things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a tumblr askfic for mllelaurel. Handwave handwave things in Xing somehow resolved really well and Yona and Kouren are now weird friends (where by weird friends I mean having pornographic sword lessons.) But really, if anyone could make weird friends with Kouren in the wake of her defeat it’s Yona.
> 
> You can assume Yona's got Hak as a primary in the background, that's what I did. Or not. Whatever floats your boat.

Yona’s getting better. She must be! Kouren’s really an amazing teacher. Hak is—many, many things, but all right, she has to admit, maybe it’s because he’s a natural, or maybe it’s because he’s the size of a small tree, but whatever it is, he’s never quite known how to teach Yona the sword. She hadn’t even realized, not properly, until her first lesson with Kouren. Everybody fights in Xing, after all, even small girls, and to Kouren, Yona’s tiny body is just different, not less than. Difficult for a taller man to knock her down if she knows how to carry her weight. Easy to slip in underneath somebody’s guard when they overreach. “You have your own advantages,” Kouren said once with a shrug, callused hands measuring the width of Yona’s shoulders. “Play to them. If you try to fight like you’re some big Koukan lug, you’re never going to win.”

“Hak’s not a _lug_ ,” Yona said, puffing out her cheeks. But some strange new pride bloomed inside her regardless.

She’s let Kouren work her until she’s so tired she can barely move, because Kouren  _never_ goes easy on her, and that’s delicious. She’s let Kouren watch her struggle, let Kouren wipe the floor with her four, six, ten times in a row, let Kouren draw the tiniest slices of blood when they fight with live steel, and trusted her not to go farther—and she never did. A woman of her word. She’s stopped feeling her heart clench in her chest every time the light and wind catch Kouren’s face just so, or when Kouren wears white, because the whole Soo-won problem is. Is a Soo-won problem and not a Kouren problem.

She’s lain there panting for air and rubber-legged as Kouren stood over her, traced the point of her sword feather-light down Yona’s throat, her collarbone, tugging the collar of her tunic down by a thumb's width that felt like a mile. She’s felt her body hot and heavy and damp with sweat and—and different things. She’s felt her eyes widen and her breath come fast, and forced herself to hold her chin high and say, “Kouren. Kouren, I know you’re teasing me.”

“Well, I should hope you’re not oblivious,” Kouren said then, voice a little low in her throat. “But why do you think I’m just teasing?”

So with time, with—various things, a lot of various things—those lessons got. More interesting. So interesting that sometimes, when Yona has held her ground for longer than expected but still yielded to Kouren’s blade at her throat, it ends with Yona tugged into Kouren’s lap, legs spread wide and straddling her, panting and keening and squirming as Kouren rucks up her skirt and slides one hand beneath it. She’d _hate_ this, with anybody else, hate being this—this wrecked, this out of control, this quivery. She still hates it a little. Enough to flush like it’s her first time every time, bite her lip until Kouren does it for her. But it’s—different with her, somehow. Maybe because she never talks down to her. Maybe because she’s a woman. Yona doesn’t entirely understand herself sometimes, but she’s learned not to deny herself by now. Not all the time, at least.

Maybe it’s just because Kouren is _so_ wickedly clever with those strong, callused fingers that Yona can’t manage to worry about it much.

“Hands to yourself, princess,” Kouren murmurs in her ear as Yona growls and squirms—trying to squirm away or make it faster, she can’t quite tell. Kouren’s spreading her lips open with two fingers, exposing her, and dragging her middle fingertip right over her clit, right over the very core of her, so slowly that Yona gets through a full keening moan on ever stroke. “Unless you want me to find something to tie them with.”

“No-o-o,” Yona pouts, voice cracking on another one of those slow, relentless strokes. The idea scares her, in that way which makes her belly do flip-flops even as things below don’t cool off at _all_. It’s too much to think of. She’s probably going to have embarrassing dreams about it. She wriggles, clutches at her ankles just to have something to grab that isn’t Kouren, and doesn’t realize until she’s done it how it makes her back arch, her knees spread wider.

“Lovely,” Kouren purrs, trailing fingers of her free hand through Yona’s hair. Her—gross sweaty hair. At least it’s mutual. It shouldn’t feel good, but it does, somehow, both of them damp from hard work, deep aches in Yona’s legs and rear. Kouren slides her palm along Yona’s scalp, gathering a thick handful of hair, and closes her fist, gentle, inexorable, pinning Yona’s head in place _almost_ painlessly. Not like the times she’s been grabbed by her hair at all, and the _almost_ is somehow perfect, and Yona hears herself whimper. And then she starts to moan in earnest as Kouren’s other hand finally speeds up.

This—this tends to finish her embarrassingly quickly. Except Kouren’s relentless, and it’s not a finish at all. One climax, as Yona shoves the knuckles of one hand in her mouth instead and tries not to scream. A second once Kouren bats that hand away, forces her to meet her eyes, and Yona thrashes against her and can hardly think. And then she’s almost too sensitive, shaking to the toes with every stroke as Kouren goes back to the slow tease, little whimpers of _please, please, please._

“Please what?” Kouren whispers, entirely smug, splaying her free hand over the back of Yona’s neck, possessive, fingertips sliding into her shirt to trace the top of the long scar on her back.

“In…inside…inside me…please…” She feels like her face is on fire just from that much. But—but Kouren groans in satisfaction almost like she’s being touched herself, and slides one finger into Yona, elegant and long and teasingly slow. Her fingers feel cool, which is strange, they’re not as chilly as Yona’s always are—maybe, Yona thinks dimly, it’s because she’s so hot down there, burning up…

“You want me to stop playing around?” Kouren’s voice is practically a growl in her ear.“You want me to push you hard? Fuck you senseless?”

Yona _whimpers_ in spite of herself, painfully aware of how overcome she is. Her nipples, bared where Kouren’s shoved her tunic open, are so hard they’re tingling, and she’s dripping, thighs slick. There’s a flush of pink on Kouren’s elegant cheekbones, and Yona stares at that as she pants for release, at the wisps of blonde stuck to her forehead. At least she’s not immune. Yona squirms, tries to rearrange herself so that she can slip a knee between Kouren’s legs—it’s an embarrassing desire, but she wants to know, to feel what she’s doing to her. If she’s doing anything to her. She—she’d better be! Kouren’s eyes are so…hungry. She must really like this. Right?

Kouren just laughs, soft and knife-sharp, and takes advantage of Yona’s squirming to spread her legs wider instead.

“Well then,” Kouren murmurs. “Winner takes all.” She gathers up Yona’s hair again, holding Yona’s head _just_ so, right where she can lean in and kiss her, teasing light, then with teeth. “I know you’ve got more than this, princess. Give it up.”

Yona makes some disgruntled, angry-cat noise as Kouren hovers just out of kissing range, face flushed so hot she can feel it to her ears—and then Kouren drives her fingers deep inside, strong hand curling, and Yona _howls_. She squeezes her eyes shut, pawing and clutching at Kouren’s shoulders in spite of either of them. She can feel her legs shaking, her hips bucking beyond her control, meeting Kouren’s hand inch for inch, driving her deeper. Kouren fucks her right through a third climax, keeps going, builds to a furious pitch, and Yona buries her screams in Kouren’s shoulder until she doesn’t let her anymore. Loses herself. Feels something—more, bigger, building in her core, so big she’s scared of it, so big she’d roll over and stop if she could, but Kouren isn’t letting her. Winner takes all. Winner takes _that_ , some endless paroxysm of pleasure so intense it feels like madness.

Yona doesn’t black out, exactly, but she’d stopped noticing the world for a while, and eventually, somewhere in the wake of that, starts again. Her cheek’s pillowed on Kouren’s shoulder, smooth muscle and damp linen. Parts of her skirt, Kouren’s trousers, are all soaked. Kouren’s got an arm around her, playing with her hair.

“Nnnyahh,” Yona says, decisively.

“You really are wasted on Kouka,” Kouren murmurs into her hair. It’s fond. It’s the dearest compliment she knows to pay her, and once Yona realized that, she came to treasure every time she said it.

“I’m wet,” is about the only thing Yona can come up with in reply for a moment, slightly puff-cheeked in indignation, and Kouren just laughs. Yona takes a few ragged breaths. “Thank you.”

“A pleasure to teach you, princess. As always.”

“Is it…really?” Yona mumbles, turning her head a little to pout into Kouren’s collarbone.

“Hah.” There’s a strange tone in her voice, and Yona picks her head up to see Kouren's almost reckless smile. “If you ever beat me, you’ll find out. Winner takes all.”

“R…really?” Yona feels her eyes widen. Kouren would—let her do that, let her wreck her? But—of course she would, Yona realizes. She’s oddly fair, in her Kouren way. Yona takes a steadying breath, reaches up to peel a bit of blonde hair out of Kouren’s eyes. “Then I will. I’ll become strong enough to. Absolutely.”


End file.
